Chapter 4: Calypso
4.1 Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He
4.2 liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart,
4.3 liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he
4.4 liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of
4.5 faintly scented urine.
4.6 Kidneys were in his mind as he moved about the kitchen softly, righting
4.7 her breakfast things on the humpy tray. Gelid light and air were in the
4.8 kitchen but out of doors gentle summer morning everywhere. Made him feel
4.9 a bit peckish.
4.10 The coals were reddening.
4.11 Another slice of bread and butter: three, four: right. She didn't like
4.12 her plate full. Right. He turned from the tray, lifted the kettle off the
4.13 hob and set it sideways on the fire. It sat there, dull and squat, its
4.14 spout stuck out. Cup of tea soon. Good. Mouth dry. The cat walked stiffly
4.15 round a leg of the table with tail on high.
4.16 --Mkgnao!
4.17 --O, there you are, Mr Bloom said, turning from the fire.
4.18 The cat mewed in answer and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the
4.19 table, mewing. Just how she stalks over my writingtable. Prr. Scratch my
4.20 head. Prr.
4.21 Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. Clean to see:
4.22 the gloss of her sleek hide, the white button under the butt of her tail,
4.23 the green flashing eyes. He bent down to her, his hands on his knees.
4.24 --Milk for the pussens, he said.
4.25 --Mrkgnao! the cat cried.
4.26 They call them stupid. They understand what we say better than we
4.27 understand them. She understands all she wants to. Vindictive too. Cruel.
4.28 Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it. Wonder what I
4.29 look like to her. Height of a tower? No, she can jump me.
4.30 --Afraid of the chickens she is, he said mockingly. Afraid of the
4.31 chookchooks. I never saw such a stupid pussens as the pussens. Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it.
4.32 --Mrkrgnao! the cat said loudly.
4.33 She blinked up out of her avid shameclosing eyes, mewing plaintively and
4.34 long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. He watched the dark eyeslits
4.35 narrowing with greed till her eyes were green stones. Then he went to the
4.36 dresser, took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him, poured
4.37 warmbubbled milk on a saucer and set it slowly on the floor.
4.38 --Gurrhr! she cried, running to lap.
4.39 He watched the bristles shining wirily in the weak light as she tipped
4.40 three times and licked lightly. Wonder is it true if you clip them they
4.41 can't mouse after. Why? They shine in the dark, perhaps, the tips. Or
4.42 kind of feelers in the dark, perhaps.
4.43 He listened to her licking lap. Ham and eggs, no. No good eggs with this
4.44 drouth. Want pure fresh water. Thursday: not a good day either for a
4.45 mutton kidney at Buckley's. Fried with butter, a shake of pepper. Better
4.46 a pork kidney at Dlugacz's. While the kettle is boiling. She lapped
4.47 slower, then licking the saucer clean. Why are their tongues so rough? To
4.48 lap better, all porous holes. Nothing she can eat? He glanced round him. No.
4.49 On quietly creaky boots he went up the staircase to the hall, paused by
4.50 the bedroom door. She might like something tasty. Thin bread and butter
4.51 she likes in the morning. Still perhaps: once in a way.
4.52 He said softly in the bare hall:
4.53 --I'm going round the corner. Be back in a minute.
4.54 And when he had heard his voice say it he added:
4.55 --You don't want anything for breakfast?
4.56 A sleepy soft grunt answered:
4.57 --Mn.4.58No. She didn't want anything. He heard then a warm heavy sigh, softer, as
4.59 she turned over and the loose brass quoits of the bedstead jingled. Must
4.60 get those settled really. Pity. All the way from Gibraltar. Forgotten any
4.61 little Spanish she knew. Wonder what her father gave for it. Old style.
4.62 Ah yes! of course. Bought it at the governor's auction. Got a short
4.63 knock. Hard as nails at a bargain, old Tweedy. Yes, sir. At Plevna that
4.64 was. I rose from the ranks, sir, and I'm proud of it. Still he had brains
4.65 enough to make that corner in stamps. Now that was farseeing.
4.66 His hand took his hat from the peg over his initialled heavy overcoat and
4.67 his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Stamps: stickyback
4.68 pictures. Daresay lots of officers are in the swim too. Course they do.
4.69 The sweated legend in the crown of his hat told him mutely: Plasto's high
4.70 grade ha. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. White slip of
4.71 paper. Quite safe.
4.72 On the doorstep he felt in his hip pocket for the latchkey. Not there. In
4.73 the trousers I left off. Must get it. Potato I have. Creaky wardrobe. No
4.74 use disturbing her. She turned over sleepily that time. He pulled the
4.75 halldoor to after him very quietly, more, till the footleaf dropped
4.76 gently over the threshold, a limp lid. Looked shut. All right till I come back anyhow.
4.77 He crossed to the bright side, avoiding the loose cellarflap of number
4.78 seventyfive. The sun was nearing the steeple of George's church. Be a
4.79 warm day I fancy. Specially in these black clothes feel it more. Black
4.80 conducts, reflects, (refracts is it?), the heat. But I couldn't go in
4.81 that light suit. Make a picnic of it. His eyelids sank quietly often as
4.82 he walked in happy warmth. Boland's breadvan delivering with trays our
4.83 daily but she prefers yesterday's loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot.
4.84 Makes you feel young. Somewhere in the east: early morning: set off at
4.85 dawn. Travel round in front of the sun, steal a day's march on him. Keep
4.86 it up for ever never grow a day older technically. Walk along a strand,
4.87 strange land, come to a city gate, sentry there, old ranker too, old
4.88 Tweedy's big moustaches, leaning on a long kind of a spear. Wander
4.89 through awned streets. Turbaned faces going by. Dark caves of carpet
4.90 shops, big man, Turko the terrible, seated crosslegged, smoking a coiled pipe. Cries of sellers in the streets. Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet.
4.91 Dander along all day. Might meet a robber or two. Well, meet
4.92 him. Getting on to sundown. The shadows of the mosques among the pillars:
4.93 priest with a scroll rolled up. A shiver of the trees, signal, the
4.94 evening wind. I pass on. Fading gold sky. A mother watches me from her
4.95 doorway. She calls her children home in their dark language. High wall:
4.96beyond strings twanged. Night sky, moon, violet, colour of Molly's new
4.97 garters. Strings. Listen. A girl playing one of those instruments what do
4.98 you call them: dulcimers. I pass.
4.99 Probably not a bit like it really. Kind of stuff you read: in the track
4.100 of the sun. Sunburst on the titlepage. He smiled, pleasing himself. What
4.101 Arthur Griffith said about the headpiece over the FREEMAN leader: a
4.102 homerule sun rising up in the northwest from the laneway behind the bank
4.103 of Ireland. He prolonged his pleased smile. Ikey touch that: homerule sun
4.104 rising up in the north-west.
4.105 He approached Larry O'Rourke's. From the cellar grating floated up the
4.106 flabby gush of porter. Through the open doorway the bar squirted out
4.107 whiffs of ginger, teadust, biscuitmush. Good house, however: just the end
4.108 of the city traffic. For instance M'Auley's down there: n. g. as
4.109 position. Of course if they ran a tramline along the North Circular from
4.110 the cattlemarket to the quays value would go up like a shot.
4.111 Baldhead over the blind. Cute old codger. No use canvassing him for an
4.112 ad. Still he knows his own business best. There he is, sure enough, my
4.113 bold Larry, leaning against the sugarbin in his shirtsleeves watching the
4.114 aproned curate swab up with mop and bucket. Simon Dedalus takes him off
4.115 to a tee with his eyes screwed up. Do you know what I'm going to tell
4.116 you? What's that, Mr O'Rourke? Do you know what? The Russians, they'd
4.117 only be an eight o'clock breakfast for the Japanese.
4.118 Stop and say a word: about the funeral perhaps. Sad thing about poor
4.119 Dignam, Mr O'Rourke.
4.120 Turning into Dorset street he said freshly in greeting through the
4.121 doorway:
4.122 --Good day, Mr O'Rourke.
4.123 --Good day to you.
4.124 --Lovely weather, sir.
4.125 --'Tis all that.
4.126 Where do they get the money? Coming up redheaded curates from the county
4.127 Leitrim, rinsing empties and old man in the cellar. Then, lo and behold,
4.128 they blossom out as Adam Findlaters or Dan Tallons. Then thin of the
4.129 competition. General thirst. Good puzzle would be cross Dublin without
4.130 passing a pub. Save it they can't. Off the drunks perhaps. Put down three
4.131 and carry five. What is that, a bob here and there, dribs and drabs. On
4.132 the wholesale orders perhaps. Doing a double shuffle with the town
4.133 travellers. Square it you with the boss and we'll split the job, see?
4.134 How much would that tot to off the porter in the month? Say ten barrels
4.135 of stuff. Say he got ten per cent off. O more. Fifteen. He passed Saint
4.136 Joseph's National school. Brats' clamour. Windows open. Fresh air helps
4.137 memory. Or a lilt. Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouvee
4.138 doubleyou. Boys are they? Yes. Inishturk. Inishark. Inishboffin. At their
4.139 joggerfry. Mine. Slieve Bloom.
4.140 He halted before Dlugacz's window, staring at the hanks of sausages,
4.141 polonies, black and white. Fifteen multiplied by. The figures whitened in
4.142 his mind, unsolved: displeased, he let them fade. The shiny links, packed
4.143 with forcemeat, fed his gaze and he breathed in tranquilly the lukewarm
4.144 breath of cooked spicy pigs' blood.
4.145 A kidney oozed bloodgouts on the willowpatterned dish: the last. He stood
4.146 by the nextdoor girl at the counter. Would she buy it too, calling the
4.147 items from a slip in her hand? Chapped: washingsoda. And a pound and a
4.148 half of Denny's sausages. His eyes rested on her vigorous hips. Woods his
4.149 name is. Wonder what he does. Wife is oldish. New blood. No followers
4.150 allowed. Strong pair of arms. Whacking a carpet on the clothesline. She
4.151 does whack it, by George. The way her crooked skirt swings at each whack.
4.152 The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had snipped off with
4.153 blotchy fingers, sausagepink. Sound meat there: like a stallfed heifer.
4.154 He took a page up from the pile of cut sheets: the model farm at
4.155 Kinnereth on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Can become ideal winter
4.156 sanatorium. Moses Montefiore. I thought he was. Farmhouse, wall round it,
4.157 blurred cattle cropping. He held the page from him: interesting: read it
4.158 nearer, the title, the blurred cropping cattle, the page rustling. A
4.159 young white heifer. Those mornings in the cattlemarket, the beasts lowing
4.160 in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung, the breeders in
4.161 hobnailed boots trudging through the litter, slapping a palm on a
4.162 ripemeated hindquarter, there's a prime one, unpeeled switches in their
4.163 hands. He held the page aslant patiently, bending his senses and his
4.164 will, his soft subject gaze at rest. The crooked skirt swinging, whack by whack by whack.
4.165 The porkbutcher snapped two sheets from the pile, wrapped up her prime
4.166 sausages and made a red grimace.
4.167 --Now, my miss, he said.
4.168 She tendered a coin, smiling boldly, holding her thick wrist out.
4.169 --Thank you, my miss. And one shilling threepence change. For you,
4.170 please?4.171Mr Bloom pointed quickly. To catch up and walk behind her if she went
4.172 slowly, behind her moving hams. Pleasant to see first thing in the
4.173 morning. Hurry up, damn it. Make hay while the sun shines. She stood
4.174 outside the shop in sunlight and sauntered lazily to the right. He sighed
4.175 down his nose: they never understand. Sodachapped hands. Crusted toenails
4.176 too. Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. The sting of
4.177 disregard glowed to weak pleasure within his breast. For another: a
4.178 constable off duty cuddling her in Eccles lane. They like them sizeable.
4.179 Prime sausage. O please, Mr Policeman, I'm lost in the wood.
4.180 --Threepence, please.
4.181 His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into a sidepocket.
4.182 Then it fetched up three coins from his trousers' pocket and laid them on
4.183 the rubber prickles. They lay, were read quickly and quickly slid, disc
4.184 by disc, into the till.
4.185 --Thank you, sir. Another time.
4.186 A speck of eager fire from foxeyes thanked him. He withdrew his gaze
4.187 after an instant. No: better not: another time.
4.188 --Good morning, he said, moving away.
4.189 --Good morning, sir.
4.190 No sign. Gone. What matter?
4.191 He walked back along Dorset street, reading gravely. Agendath Netaim:
4.192 planters' company. To purchase waste sandy tracts from Turkish government
4.193 and plant with eucalyptus trees. Excellent for shade, fuel and
4.194 construction. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. You
4.195 pay eighty marks and they plant a dunam of land for you with olives,
4.196 oranges, almonds or citrons. Olives cheaper: oranges need artificial
4.197 irrigation. Every year you get a sending of the crop. Your name entered
4.198 for life as owner in the book of the union. Can pay ten down and the
4.199 balance in yearly instalments. Bleibtreustrasse 34, Berlin, W. 15.
4.200 Nothing doing. Still an idea behind it.
4.321 Following the pointing of her finger he took up a leg of her soiled
4.322 drawers from the bed. No? Then, a twisted grey garter looped round a
4.323 stocking: rumpled, shiny sole.4.324--No: that book.
4.325 Other stocking. Her petticoat.
4.326 --It must have fell down, she said.
4.327 He felt here and there. VOGLIO E NON VORREI. Wonder if she pronounces
4.328 that right: VOGLIO. Not in the bed. Must have slid down. He stooped and
4.329 lifted the valance. The book, fallen, sprawled against the bulge of the
4.330 orangekeyed chamberpot.
4.331 --Show here, she said. I put a mark in it. There's a word I wanted to ask
4.332 you.
4.333 She swallowed a draught of tea from her cup held by nothandle and, having
4.334 wiped her fingertips smartly on the blanket, began to search the text
4.335 with the hairpin till she reached the word.
4.336 --Met him what? he asked.
4.337 --Here, she said. What does that mean?
4.338 He leaned downward and read near her polished thumbnail.
4.339 --Metempsychosis?4.340--Yes. Who's he when he's at home?
4.341 --Metempsychosis, he said, frowning. It's Greek: from the Greek. That
4.342 means the transmigration of souls.
4.343 --O, rocks! she said. Tell us in plain words.
4.344 He smiled, glancing askance at her mocking eyes. The same young eyes. The
4.345 first night after the charades. Dolphin's Barn. He turned over the
4.346 smudged pages. RUBY: THE PRIDE OF THE RING. Hello. Illustration. Fierce
4.347 Italian with carriagewhip. Must be Ruby pride of the on the floor naked.
4.348 Sheet kindly lent. THE MONSTER MAFFEI DESISTED AND FLUNG HIS VICTIM FROM4.
349 HIM WITH AN OATH. Cruelty behind it all. Doped animals. Trapeze at Hengler's.
4.350 Had to look the other way. Mob gaping. Break your neck and
4.351 we'll break our sides. Families of them. Bone them young so they
4.352 metamspychosis. That we live after death. Our souls. That a man's soul
4.353 after he dies. Dignam's soul ...
4.354 --Did you finish it? he asked.
4.355 --Yes, she said. There's nothing smutty in it. Is she in love with the
4.356 first fellow all the time?
4.357 --Never read it. Do you want another?
4.358 --Yes. Get another of Paul de Kock's. Nice name he has.
4.359 She poured more tea into her cup, watching it flow sideways.
4.360 Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write to
4.361 Kearney, my guarantor. Reincarnation: that's the word.
4.362 --Some people believe, he said, that we go on living in another body
4.363 after death, that we lived before. They call it reincarnation. That we
4.364 all lived before on the earth thousands of years ago or some other
4.365 planet. They say we have forgotten it. Some say they remember their past
4.366 lives.
4.367 The sluggish cream wound curdling spirals through her tea. Bette remind
4.368 her of the word: metempsychosis. An example would be better. An example?
4.369 The BATH OF THE NYMPH over the bed. Given away with the Easter number of
4.370 PHOTO BITS: Splendid masterpiece in art colours. Tea before you put milk
4.371 in. Not unlike her with her hair down: slimmer. Three and six I gave for
4.372 the frame. She said it would look nice over the bed. Naked nymphs:
4.373 Greece: and for instance all the people that lived then.
4.374 He turned the pages back.
4.375 --Metempsychosis, he said, is what the ancient Greeks called it. They
4.376 used to believe you could be changed into an animal or a tree, for
4.377 instance. What they called nymphs, for example.
4.378 Her spoon ceased to stir up the sugar. She gazed straight before her,
4.379 inhaling through her arched nostrils.
4.380 --There's a smell of burn, she said. Did you leave anything on the fire?
4.381 --The kidney! he cried suddenly.
4.382 He fitted the book roughly into his inner pocket and, stubbing his toes
4.383 against the broken commode, hurried out towards the smell, stepping
4.384 hastily down the stairs with a flurried stork's legs. Pungent smoke shot
4.385 up in an angry jet from a side of the pan. By prodding a prong of the
4.386 fork under the kidney he detached it and turned it turtle on its back.
4.387 Only a little burnt. He tossed it off the pan on to a plate and let the
4.388 scanty brown gravy trickle over it.
4.389 Cup of tea now. He sat down, cut and buttered a slice of the loaf. He
4.390 shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to the cat. Then he put a forkful
4.391 into his mouth, chewing with discernment the toothsome pliant meat. Done
4.392 to a turn. A mouthful of tea. Then he cut away dies of bread, sopped one
4.393 in the gravy and put it in his mouth. What was that about some young
4.394 student and a picnic? He creased out the letter at his side, reading it
4.395 slowly as he chewed, sopping another die of bread in the gravy and
4.396 raising it to his mouth.
4.397 Dearest Papli
4.398 Thanks ever so much for the lovely birthday present. It suits me
4.399 splendid. Everyone says I am quite the belle in my new tam. I got mummy's
4.400 Iovely box of creams and am writing. They are lovely. I am getting on
4.401 swimming in the photo business now. Mr Coghlan took one of me and Mrs.
4.402 Will send when developed. We did great biz yesterday. Fair day and all
4.403 the beef to the heels were in. We are going to lough Owel on Monday with
4.404 a few friends to make a scrap picnic. Give my love to mummy and to
4.405 yourself a big kiss and thanks. I hear them at the piano downstairs.
4.406 There is to be a concert in the Greville Arms on Saturday. There is a
4.407 young student comes here some evenings named Bannon his cousins or
4.408 something are big swells and he sings Boylan's (I was on the pop of
4.409 writing Blazes Boylan's) song about those seaside girls. Tell him silly
4.410 Milly sends my best respects. I must now close with fondest love
4.411 Your fond daughter,
4.412 Milly
4.413 P. S. Excuse bad writing am in hurry. Byby.
4.414 M.
4.415 Fifteen yesterday. Curious, fifteenth of the month too. Her first
4.416 birthday away from home. Separation. Remember the summer morning she was
4.417 born, running to knock up Mrs Thornton in Denzille street. Jolly old
4.418 woman. Lot of babies she must have helped into the world. She knew from
4.419 the first poor little Rudy wouldn't live. Well, God is good, sir. She
4.420 knew at once. He would be eleven now if he had lived.
4.421 His vacant face stared pityingly at the postscript. Excuse bad writing.
4.422 Hurry. Piano downstairs. Coming out of her shell. Row with her in the XL
4.423 Cafe about the bracelet. Wouldn't eat her cakes or speak or look.
4.424 Saucebox. He sopped other dies of bread in the gravy and ate piece after
4.425 piece of kidney. Twelve and six a week. Not much. Still, she might do
4.426 worse. Music hall stage. Young student. He drank a draught of cooler tea
4.427 to wash down his meal. Then he read the letter again: twice.
4.428 O, well: she knows how to mind herself. But if not? No, nothing has
4.429 happened. Of course it might. Wait in any case till it does. A wild piece
4.430 of goods. Her slim legs running up the staircase. Destiny. Ripening now.
4.431Vain: very.
4.432 He smiled with troubled affection at the kitchen window. Day I caught her
4.433 in the street pinching her cheeks to make them red. Anemic a little. Was
4.434 given milk too long. On the ERIN'S KING that day round the Kish. Damned
4.435 old tub pitching about. Not a bit funky. Her pale blue scarf loose in the
4.436 wind with her hair.
4.437 ALL DIMPLED CHEEKS AND CURLS,
4.438 YOUR HEAD IT SIMPLY SWIRLS.
4.439 Seaside girls. Torn envelope. Hands stuck in his trousers' pockets,
4.440 jarvey off for the day, singing. Friend of the family. Swurls, he says.
4.441 Pier with lamps, summer evening, band,
4.442 THOSE GIRLS, THOSE GIRLS,
4.443 THOSE LOVELY SEASIDE GIRLS.
4.444 Milly too. Young kisses: the first. Far away now past. Mrs Marion.
4.445 Reading, lying back now, counting the strands of her hair, smiling,
4.446 braiding.4.447A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his backbone, increasing. Will happen,
4.448 yes. Prevent. Useless: can't move. Girl's sweet light lips. Will happen
4.449 too. He felt the flowing qualm spread over him. Useless to move now. Lips
4.450 kissed, kissing, kissed. Full gluey woman's lips.
4.451 Better where she is down there: away. Occupy her. Wanted a dog to pass
4.452 the time. Might take a trip down there. August bank holiday, only two and
4.453 six return. Six weeks off, however. Might work a press pass. Or through
4.454 M'Coy.
4.455 The cat, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the meatstained paper,
4.456 nosed at it and stalked to the door. She looked back at him, mewing.
4.457 Wants to go out. Wait before a door sometime it will open. Let her wait.
4.458 Has the fidgets. Electric. Thunder in the air. Was washing at her ear
4.459 with her back to the fire too.
4.460 He felt heavy, full: then a gentle loosening of his bowels. He stood up,
4.461 undoing the waistband of his trousers. The cat mewed to him.
4.462 --Miaow! he said in answer. Wait till I'm ready.
4.463 Heaviness: hot day coming. Too much trouble to fag up the stairs to the
4.464 landing.
4.465 A paper. He liked to read at stool. Hope no ape comes knocking just as
4.466 I'm.
4.467 In the tabledrawer he found an old number of TITBITS. He folded it under
4.468 his armpit, went to the door and opened it. The cat went up in soft
4.469 bounds. Ah, wanted to go upstairs, curl up in a ball on the bed.
4.470 Listening, he heard her voice:
4.471 --Come, come, pussy. Come.
4.472 He went out through the backdoor into the garden: stood to listen towards
4.473 the next garden. No sound. Perhaps hanging clothes out to dry. The maid
4.474 was in the garden. Fine morning.
4.475 He bent down to regard a lean file of spearmint growing by the wall. Make
4.476 a summerhouse here. Scarlet runners. Virginia creepers. Want to manure
4.477 the whole place over, scabby soil. A coat of liver of sulphur. All soil
4.478 like that without dung. Household slops. Loam, what is this that is? The
4.479 hens in the next garden: their droppings are very good top dressing. Best
4.480 of all though are the cattle, especially when they are fed on those
4.481 oilcakes. Mulch of dung. Best thing to clean ladies' kid gloves. Dirty
4.482 cleans. Ashes too. Reclaim the whole place. Grow peas in that corner
4.483 there. Lettuce. Always have fresh greens then. Still gardens have their
4.484 drawbacks. That bee or bluebottle here Whitmonday.
4.485 He walked on. Where is my hat, by the way? Must have put it back on the
4.486 peg. Or hanging up on the floor. Funny I don't remember that. Hallstand
4.487 too full. Four umbrellas, her raincloak. Picking up the letters. Drago's
4.488 shopbell ringing. Queer I was just thinking that moment. Brown
4.489 brillantined hair over his collar. Just had a wash and brushup. Wonder
4.490 have I time for a bath this morning. Tara street. Chap in the paybox
4.491 there got away James Stephens, they say. O'Brien.
4.492 Deep voice that fellow Dlugacz has. Agendath what is it? Now, my miss.
4.493 Enthusiast.
4.494 He kicked open the crazy door of the jakes. Better be careful not to get
4.495 these trousers dirty for the funeral. He went in, bowing his head under
4.496 the low lintel. Leaving the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldy limewash
4.497 and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. Before sitting down he peered
4.498 through a chink up at the nextdoor windows. The king was in his
4.499 countinghouse. Nobody.
4.500 Asquat on the cuckstool he folded out his paper, turning its pages over
4.501 on his bared knees. Something new and easy. No great hurry. Keep it a
4.502 bit. Our prize titbit: MATCHAM'S MASTERSTROKE. Written by Mr Philip
4.503 Beaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London. Payment at the rate of one guinea a
4.504 column has been made to the writer. Three and a half. Three pounds three.
4.505 Three pounds, thirteen and six.
4.506 Quietly he read, restraining himself, the first column and, yielding but
4.507 resisting, began the second. Midway, his last resistance yielding, he
4.508 allowed his bowels to ease themselves quietly as he read, reading still
4.509 patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. Hope it's not
4.510 too big bring on piles again. No, just right. So. Ah! Costive. One tabloid of cascara sagrada.
4.511 Life might be so. It did not move or touch him but it was something quick
4.512 and neat. Print anything now. Silly season. He read on, seated calm above
4.513 his own rising smell. Neat certainly. MATCHAM OFTEN THINKS OF THE
4.514 MASTERSTROKE BY WHICH HE WON THE LAUGHING WITCH WHO NOW. Begins and
4.515 ends morally. HAND IN HAND. Smart. He glanced back through what he had
4.516 read and, while feeling his water flow quietly, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy
4.517 who had written it and received payment of three pounds, thirteen and six.
4.518 Might manage a sketch. By Mr and Mrs L. M. Bloom. Invent a story for some
4.519 proverb. Which? Time I used to try jotting down on my cuff what she said
4.520 dressing. Dislike dressing together. Nicked myself shaving. Biting her
4.521 nether lip, hooking the placket of her skirt. Timing her. 9.l5. Did
4.522 Roberts pay you yet? 9.20. What had Gretta Conroy on? 9.23. What
4.523 possessed me to buy this comb? 9.24. I'm swelled after that cabbage. A
4.524 speck of dust on the patent leather of her boot.
4.525 Rubbing smartly in turn each welt against her stockinged calf. Morning
4.526 after the bazaar dance when May's band played Ponchielli's dance of the
4.527 hours. Explain that: morning hours, noon, then evening coming on, then
4.528 night hours. Washing her teeth. That was the first night. Her head
4.529 dancing. Her fansticks clicking. Is that Boylan well off? He has money.
4.530 Why? I noticed he had a good rich smell off his breath dancing. No use
4.531 humming then. Allude to it. Strange kind of music that last night. The
4.532 mirror was in shadow. She rubbed her handglass briskly on her woollen
4.533 vest against her full wagging bub. Peering into it. Lines in her eyes. It
4.534 wouldn't pan out somehow.
4.535 Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. Night hours then: black with daggers
4.536 and eyemasks. Poetical idea: pink, then golden, then grey, then black.
4.537 Still, true to life also. Day: then the night.
4.538 He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped himself with it. Then
4.539 he girded up his trousers, braced and buttoned himself. He pulled back
4.540 the jerky shaky door of the jakes and came forth from the gloom into the air.
4.541 In the bright light, lightened and cooled in limb, he eyed carefully his
4.542 black trousers: the ends, the knees, the houghs of the knees. What time
4.543 is the funeral? Better find out in the paper.
4.544 A creak and a dark whirr in the air high up. The bells of George's
4.545 church. They tolled the hour: loud dark iron.
4.546 HEIGHO! HEIGHO!
4.547 HEIGHO! HEIGHO!
4.548 HEIGHO! HEIGHO!
4.549 Quarter to. There again: the overtone following through the air, a third.
4.550 Poor Dignam